


Run with the Hunted

by notyouranswer (gorgeouschaos)



Series: Servants of the Hunt [2]
Category: Supernatural, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Season/Series 08, Season/Series 03, Yes I have several other WIPs why do you ask
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorgeouschaos/pseuds/notyouranswer
Summary: Despite being American, Sam Wesson is polite, well-read, and an excellent researcher. He leaves Jon alone except for emergencies and gets along well with the others.In other words, Sam Wesson is a good archival assistant. If it wasn’t for his suspiciously comprehensive knowledge of supernatural lore, his unnatural composure under fire, his habit of carrying weapons everywhere, and the many mysterious calls he refuses to talk about, Jon might even trust him.On hiatus for a bit-- author is dealing with mental health issues.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jonathan Sims & Everyone, Jonathan Sims & Sam Winchester
Series: Servants of the Hunt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678168
Comments: 75
Kudos: 235





	1. Introductions (Jon)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the title of a Charles Bukowski book. It seemed fitting.  
> Timeline set-up (which is wildly AU, but hey, it's a niche crossover, whatcha gonna do): At the start of this fic, we are just after TMA episode 92 and between Supernatural seasons seven and eight. In this AU, instead of hitting a dog, Sam hit Gerard Keay. Gertrude Robinson (through possibly paranormal means) got him a new identity and convinced him to apply to the Magnus Institute in London. Elias hired Sam immediately, because, you know, he knows a Hunter when he sees one. Dean’s still in Purgatory.  
> Standard disclaimer: I’m not British and my way of speaking is much closer to Sam’s than anyone else’s, so sorry if anything’s off.  
> Apparently my one and only coping method is starting a thousand WIPs, so, uh, here ya go? I’ll try to update weekly, probably on Wednesdays. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, hope you like it, and I love hearing from y’all :)

Jon has been back at the Archives for less than a month when Elias informs him he will be receiving another archival assistant.

“Um,” Jon says, no longer trying to keep the hostility out of his voice. “I… don’t need one?”

“He’ll be a great fit,” Elias informs him. “I already hired him. He should be here any minute to finish up the paperwork.”

“I did not agree to this. I don’t want--”

There’s a knock on the doorframe. “Um, hello?” The speaker’s voice is low, soft, and… 

“He’s _American_?” Jon demands. _Dear Lord._

Elias directs a warning look at Jon before smiling at Jon’s new assistant. “Hello, Sam. This is Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist. He’ll be your immediate superior.”

Jon turns and blinks in surprise. The man in the doorway is much taller and broader than his voice made Jon expect. He cuts an intimidating figure.

“Sam Wesson,” Jon’s new assistant says, extending his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Jon responds. It might not actually be nice to meet this interloper, but his grandmother raised him to be polite on instinct. He takes Wesson’s hand and looks the man over, trying to be subtle about it. Wesson’s grip is strong-- not surprising, considering his size and the muscles Jon can see beneath his button-up polo-- and his hands are far more calloused than Jon would expect. He’s smiling, but there’s something hard behind his eyes, something in how he moves, something in how the air around him feels, that makes Jon a little uneasy. 

The scar Daisy left him twinges.

“Why don’t you go get set up downstairs, Sam,” Elias suggests. “I just need to talk some things over with Jonathan.” 

Wesson nods, gives Jon a brief half-smile, and exits Elias’ office. 

“Why him?” Jon asks Elias. “Why are you dragging another person into this? What's so special about him?” Elias’ eyes glitter.

“If you failed to notice what’s special about him, then you have even farther to go than I thought.”

Jon glares. “He’s a Hunter.” 

“Yes.”

“We already have Daisy.”

“Well.” Elias shrugs. It’s annoyingly elegant. “For a certain definition of “have”, yes. But Sam has a far more impressive record, a vested interest in keeping me alive, and I believe he will be a better fit in the Archives. Besides, he went to Stanford.”

Jon has more questions than he did before Elias answered. “He-- what?”

“Why don’t you ask him,” Elias suggests. 

Jon bites his lip and stands. _Must not antagonize the pipe murderer with no witnesses._ _Must not antagonize the pipe murderer with no witnesses._

“Oh, and Jon,” Elias calls. Jon pauses in the doorway, clenching his fists and biting back comments about amateur theatrics. “He’s also a good source of statements, if you get… hungry.”

Jon slams the door behind himself. 

So much for not antagonizing the pipe murderer with no witnesses. 

Jon walks into the reading room of the Archives to the sound of Tim telling Wesson, “Quit. Go up to that bastard’s office. Right now. And just quit.”

Jon can’t deny that that’s good advice. He leans against the wall, folds his arms, and watches. Just like he’s supposed to, right, Elias? 

“Appreciate it,” Wesson responds mildly. He doesn’t seem fazed, either by the words or Tim’s blazing eyes. “But I’ve got good reasons for being here, and I know what I’m getting into.”

“Oh, you poor bastard,” Tim says dully. He’s turning away from the table, losing whatever sick spark animated him for those brief moments. “No. No, you don’t.” 

Tim wanders away, probably to hole up in the library and spend the day reading again. Jon represses a sigh and pulls out a chair at the table. Tim could be doing worse things, he supposes. 

“I see you’ve met Tim.”

“Yeah. He, uh, he always like that?”

“More or less, unfortunately.”

“Right.” Wesson seems to shrug his encounter with Tim off. “So... you got anything you want me to do?”

Jon hesitates. The archivist inside of him wants to assign this Stanford graduate (if Elias can be believed, anyway) to the boxes of research waiting to be done. The Archivist inside of him wants to interrogate Wesson about every aspect of his life. 

The human inside of him makes him blurt, “Wesson, I-- I don’t think you actually know what you’re getting into.”

He and the others are trapped in this nightmare. The man with the sad smile across the table doesn’t have to be.

“Well, first off, call me Sam,” Wesson-- Sam-- says. “And second, I appreciate the concern, but I’m here because of Gerard Keay and Gertrude Robinson.”

“I-- what? You knew them?”

“Yeah. Well, briefly.”

“How?”

Sam laughs a little. “I hit Gerry with my car, actually. Met Gertrude in urgent care.”

“And she told you to get a job at the Magnus Institute? On a different continent?” Jon can’t restrain his incredulity. If this was a statement, he would have thrown it out by now.

Sam’s expression remains genial, but Jon can hear an undercurrent of tension in his voice when he says, “I’m a little bit, ah, recognizable in the US. And Gertrude was very adamant that I would be well suited to the British Institute.”

If Gertrude wanted Sam to work here, she must have had a reason. Lord knows the woman did nothing without a plan. The question, then, is this: does Jon trust her plan?

He’s not sure. 

“And she told you what you’re getting into?” 

“I know about the Beholding and what the Institute does to you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jon sits back in his seat. Why would Gertrude, the most paranoid woman to ever walk the surface of the Earth, trust a complete stranger with that information?

Something to consider later. He has a more important question for Sam right now.

“If you know about it all-- well, if you know about that, anyway-- then why are you here?”

Sam looks Jon dead in the eye, his amiability gone, something desperate and burning in its place. “It’s the best chance I have at finding my brother.”

_Truth_ , the Knowing inside of Jon whispers.

Jon resigns himself to having another person involved in his mess.

“Let me introduce you to the others,” he sighs. Sam smiles, his mask firmly in place once more.

Daisy is wary; Martin is friendly; Basira is polite; Melanie is quiet, but at least not overtly suspicious. All of them are curious, of course. Jon can’t blame them. A soft-spoken, hard-eyed American who could probably bench press any of them showing up out of nowhere and claiming to know about the situation… well. It’s not exactly ordinary. 

Sam diverts all initial questions expertly, but the Archives staff-- even Tim and Jon-- corner him en masse during his lunch break.

“So, which part of the US are you from?” Martin asks, eyes brighter than Jon’s seen them in a long time. “I mean, I’ve never been, but I know some of the states and stuff.”

Sam smiles. “I spent most of my time in the middle and southern parts. And the West. We moved around a lot, so I’m kind of from all over.”

_Truth_.

Martin opens his mouth, but Tim speaks up before he can ask another question.“You ever seen anything… spooky?” Tim’s expression as he glances at John leaves no doubt that he’s being deliberately antagonistic. Still, it’s nice to see him caring about something.

Sam puts his fork down with deliberate calm. Jon waits for his answer with unwilling, anticipatory hunger. 

“Define “spooky”.”

“Oh, you know.” Tim tilts his chair back onto two legs. “Weird. Out of the ordinary. Vampires, ghosts, people you care about being replaced by things wearing their skin. The things that go bump in the night. Spooky shit like that.”

“Tim,” Martin warns.

“What? He says he knows what he’s getting into, he has to have some sort of story. We all do.” Jon can see a hint of the old Tim, there. The one who didn’t know how to back down.

Sam’s smile is gone and his voice is cool when he responds. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve seen some “spooky shit”.”

“Like what?” 

Jon wants to tell Tim to leave Sam alone. He really does. Somehow he just can’t make himself do it in time to stop Sam’s answer, though.

He needs to know.

“My mother burned on my ceiling when I was six months old.” Sam says it conversationally. Everyone but Daisy flinches. “My girlfriend died the same way ten years ago. That satisfy you, Stoker?”

_Truth_.

Tim almost looks ashamed. He nods.

“Great.” Sam shoves his lunch into his bag. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee.” He’s gone too fast for anyone to say anything. 

Daisy follows him without a word. Jon has enough faith in their shared alliance to the Hunt that he isn’t too worried.

“Nice job, Tim,” Basira comments. “Great first conversation with our new coworker.”

Jon rakes a hand through his hair and goes back to his office. Someone else can have his lunch.

Somehow, he’s not hungry anymore.


	2. Interrogations (Daisy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented! I won't be responding to everyone’s comments-- there’s so many! Yay!-- but every single one makes me smile.  
> (To the people I accidentally sucked back into the black hole that is Supernatural-- oops? I’d apologize, but I think we all know you never really escaped…)  
> Extra credit to whoever catches Elias’ reference!

Daisy follows “Wesson” up the stairs. She moves as quietly as possible for no other reason than to see how long it takes him to notice her. Most people don’t until she’s slitting their throats.

They’re in the atrium when he asks, without slowing, “Is there a reason you’ve been following me, Daisy?”

 _Oh_ , she thinks, speeding up, her hunter’s smile spreading across her face, _oh, this could be interesting_.

“Just testing you,” Daisy responds, slowing to walk at his side. “It’s not often another Hunter walks into the Archives.”

“Mmm.” Sam holds the door open for her, his lunch still in one hand. Daisy doesn’t trust anyone to be behind her-- Basira is the exception, but she isn’t here, is she?-- but she allows him his gallant gesture. They walk side by side towards the nearest coffee shop. It’s probably rude, but Daisy doesn’t care, and everyone passing by seems to instinctively give both of them a wide berth anyway. 

Sam doesn’t say anything. Daisy doesn’t either. She’s comfortable with the silence. She does make a point of opening the coffee shop door before Sam can, though. He shoots her an amused look and lets her do it. 

Daisy breaks the silence as they wait in line. “Most people would have thrown away their lunch by this point.”

She gets the distinct impression he’s studying her, even if his eyes are on the menu above the counter. “I don’t like wasting food.”

“A rare hangup to have.”

“Yeah, well.” He finally makes eye contact with her. There’s the kind of shadows in his eyes Daisy’s seen in the eyes of Section 31 cops who were on the job for a decade too long. “Growing up poor will do that to you.”

He’s being more honest than Daisy had expected. He’s keeping her on her toes.

He’s keeping up with her. 

When they get to the counter, Sam orders a latte, which surprises Daisy a little. She gets the same thing.

Sam claims a table in the corner. There’s an awkward moment where he and Daisy both try to take the seat which faces the door. She lets him have it. This conversation will be easier if he’s comfortable. 

(She does doubt Sam will ever be that vulnerable, but she can try.)

“Ask what you really want to ask,” Sam tells Daisy. He takes a sip of his latte with more resignation than she would have thought possible to convey while drinking a latte.

Daisy scans their surroundings for any eavesdroppers. When she sees no one who appears to be paying attention, she says, “I was a cop for about ten years. Worked with the people that dealt with the things humans weren’t meant to deal with.”

“Okay?”

“Which means I was a cop during all of the Winchester brothers’ killing sprees. Caught our attention, even that far away from the two of them. I spent a decent amount of time reading the news about the whole thing.”

Nothing in Sam’s face or posture visibly changes, but the wolf which paces in the back of Daisy’s mind goes tense. 

“Is there a point to this?” 

“Yeah.” Daisy leans over the table a little. She doesn’t think the cheap intimidation tactic will do much, but it’s ingrained at this point. “Why the hell would _Sam fucking Winchester_ move to Britain-- _alone_ \-- and decide to work for the Magnus Institute?”

Sam blinks once, slowly. The movement is deliberate and almost lazy. It’s the blink of a predator. 

Daisy feels her wolf-like smile stretch across her face again in response. 

It’s the smile that does it, she’ll think later. It’s the smile that convinces him they’re the same kind of animal.

“Because my brother is gone, and Gertrude Robinson said the Archives might have information on how to get him back. Because this place is the only shot I have left to save him. Because I’m gonna get my brother back or die trying and it doesn’t matter what it does to me to do that.”

Sam Winchester’s accent creeps into his voice as he speaks, and by the time he’s finished, it’s stronger than she would have expected. It’s the kind of accent Daisy associates with cowboys, not with Stanford graduates. 

It makes her like him more. 

“I believe you,” she says, because she does. The only thing about the Winchesters everyone agreed with was that they didn’t know how to live without each other. “I don’t suppose you want to help me kill some monsters while you’re looking?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Oh, yes. This one is one of hers. 

When they get back to the Institute, Elias is waiting for them. 

“If you would both be so kind as to follow me.” He turns towards the stairs to his office without waiting for a response. 

Daisy clenches her fists and stomps after the bastard. Sam follows suit without comment.

When the door is closed behind the three of them, Elias says, “Jon is going to seek out a creature of the Stranger. You two will give him whatever aid he requests. Is that understood?”

Daisy nods curtly. Killing another monster won’t bother her. Sam says, “Yes.”

“I believe you have encountered the Stranger’s puppets before, Sam,” Elias adds. His pale eyes are fixed on Sam in a way which sets Daisy on edge. “This one may be similar to the ones you’ve encountered before. Skinwalkers and the like.”

Sam’s eyebrows draw together. “Skinwalkers are the Stranger’s work?”

“Well.” Elias spreads his hands. “More or less. They carry out the Stranger’s work, even if they’re not aware of it.”

Sam nods like that makes sense to him. 

“Anything else, Elias?” Daisy says. She has no patience for Elias’ selective distribution of cryptic information at the best of times. 

“No, thank you. Don’t let me detain you.”

Jon is waiting. He visibly relaxes when he sees the two of them are unharmed.

“It’s touching, the faith you have in us,” Daisy tells him. “Really.”

“You can’t blame me for being worried about Sam, at least,” Jon snaps. “You tried to kill me a few days ago. And we all know what Elias is capable of.”

Sam raises an eyebrow but doesn’t ask. 

Daisy wants to push back at Jon, just a little. Maybe a lot. It’s probably a bad idea, but seeing how far she can push this monster always makes Daisy’s pulse quicken with satisfaction.

Sam speaks before she can decide to antagonize the Archivist, though. “I’m coming.”

Jon stares at Sam. “Um…”

“He’s coming,” Daisy says. 

Jon turns his dark eyes to her. Daisy represses a shudder and says, “Trust me.” She’s aware even as she says it that it’s a foolish request, but Jon doesn’t comment. He chews his lip. She can smell the blood in the air as Jon’s chapped lips crack.

“Okay,” Jon says. “Okay. Can you drive us?”

“Sure.” Daisy starts towards the parking lot without another word. 

She’s looking forward to finding out how many weapons Sam’s been hiding.

Daisy parks a block away from the taxidermy shop. She glances into the rearview mirror. Jon’s face has turned a sick shade of grey, but he nods when he catches her eye.

“She’s in there,” Jon confirms. 

“What’s the plan?” Sam asks, shifting in the passenger seat. “I’m losing feeling in my legs, here.”

In all fairness, he is probably about a foot taller than the type of person Daisy’s car was designed for.

When Daisy doesn’t speak, Jon clears his throat. “Um. We go inside and we handcuff her to a chair?”

Sam and Daisy exchange a glance. She shrugs. He shrugs back and opens the door.

“And I thought D-- thought my brother’s plans were half-assed,” Sam mutters to Daisy as they follow Jon away from the car. Daisy files away the stutter for later, even though she could have already guessed Dean Winchester was Sam’s weak spot. It never hurts to have more leverage.

“Yeah,” Daisy says. “Welcome to working for the Magnus Institute. You regretting signing up yet?”

“No.”

She nods. “Good. Still a hell of a first day on the job.”

Sam huffs. 

Jon stops walking to stare at the door to the taxidermist shop. Daisy curses internally. The Archivist has no sense of stealth.

“Go time,” Sam says under his breath. “Who’s taking point?”

Daisy tilts her head. “That mean ‘going in first’?”

An expression of profound loss flickers over Sam’s face before it’s replaced by a blank one. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Daisy doesn’t comment on it. Everyone who knows about the Winchesters knows they don’t do well apart. “You can. I’ll make sure Sims doesn’t get himself killed.” 

Sam nods. Daisy tugs Jon away from the door. Sam turns the doorknob and ducks inside the dark interior of the building.

Daisy counts to five before following him inside. Jon audibly gulps but stumbles after her. 

Between the two of them, Daisy and Sam pin the thing masquerading as Sarah Baldwin to a chair easily enough. Daisy handcuffs its wrists behind its back with the chain threaded through the bars which make up the chair’s back. 

“Who the hell are you people?” it demands. “Let me go!”

“Like I said,” Daisy informs it, “you’re under arrest.”

“What for?”

“I think you know what,” Sam says. His voice is completely even, but Daisy can hear the growl in the back of his throat.

“Sam Wesson” is gone. Daisy is listening to Sam Winchester close in on his prey and it makes the wolf inside of her rumble in approval. 

Her admiration is diverted when she catches sight of Jon’s white-knuckled hold on a tape recorder. “You’re recording again?”

“What? It’s hardly your first crime on tape, and if we’re going to question her…” 

_Oh._ “Is that what we’re doing?” And here she’d been planning how to dispose of the corpse.

“You’re making a mistake, is what you’re doing,” the thing handcuffed to the chair says. 

Before Jon or Daisy can react, Sam backhands it hard across the face. Its head turns with the blow, rotating way too far, but Daisy’s blood still lights up with fierce joy at the sound of the impact.

“I don’t think we’re the ones making the mistake here,” Sam says, circling the chair.

The thing wearing Sarah Baldwin’s skin laughs. Daisy barely resists clamping her hands over her ears. Neither Jon nor Sam appears affected.

“Oh, I know you,” it says. “Nikola’s been keeping an eye on you for a while. Poor little Sammy, lost without big brother Dean. Oh, if you only knew where he was…” 

In a blur of motion, Sam has a knife in his hand and to the thing’s throat. He snarls, “ _Where is he?_ ”

The thing just laughs. 

“Sam,” Daisy says, placing a hand on his shoulder with the kind of caution usually reserved for approaching wild animals. “It wants you to kill it. Don’t do it.”

He ignores her. The knife stays where it is. Daisy can smell the thing’s skin starting to singe.

“Sims can make it talk,” she says.

For a long moment, Daisy’s sure Sam is going to slide the knife through the puppet’s throat anyway. Then he takes a step back.

“We can kill it later,” Daisy whispers in Sam’s ear as Jon moves forward with his tape recorder held before him like a talisman. “And we can make it hurt.”

The expression on Sam Winchester’s face makes Daisy’s wolf lash her tail in approval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe and have a good week!


	3. Words and Weapons (Jon//Sam)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about missing last week.  
> Double slashes (//) denotes a POV change. I decided it was time for Sam to tell some of his side of the story.  
> Thank you so much for all of your comments! :)

“You _really_ don’t know where it is?” the thing wearing Sarah Baldwin’s skin asks.

Jon swallows. “Ah…” 

“I see,” it says. 

It breaks the chain of the handcuffs and slams its fist into Daisy’s stomach. Then it’s running for the door. 

Daisy, gasping for breath, raises her gun. She fires three times. The thing staggers but doesn’t fall.

Before it gets to the door, though, Sam takes the thing’s head off with one swing of his-- is that a _machete_? Where did he get a _machete_?

“What,” Daisy pants, “the _hell_.”

Jon shakes his head wordlessly. He rather agrees with the sentiment.

Sam prods the body with the toe of his boot. It shifts, spilling more of its… sawdust? 

Jon spends a few seconds reminiscing about when his job just entailed researching things.

“I hit her,” Daisy wheezes, staring at the inhuman corpse. “I’m sure I hit her.”

“I know,” Sam says. “But for these kinds of things, you need silver.”

“And decapitation?” Jon inquires. His voice is bordering on hysterical, but he’s beyond caring.

“Nah.” Sam pulls a canister of salt from inside his jacket. Jon considers asking why Sam has a container of salt on him but decides not to. “You don’t have to for skinwalkers or werewolves, anyway. Although it never hurts to take their heads off.” He starts dumping salt on the body.

“What…” Jon doesn’t even know where to start. Elias said Sam had a lot of statements to give, but…

“We can cover it later.” Sam pulls a book of matches from another pocket. “Crap, I don’t have gas, I don’t know if this thing will… Let’s go before the cops come.” He shoves the matches back into his pocket.

“Right,” Jon says. “Right, let’s go.”

If his hands are shaking so hard he drops his tape recorder, no one comments. 

Sam’s anger and disappointment are palpable, roiling off of him like ozone from a storm and filling Daisy’s car with tension.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get information about your brother, Sam,” Jon offers awkwardly.

Sam shrugs. He keeps his gaze out the windshield. “We’re going after these things anyway, right? One of them will tell me.”

Jon doesn’t comment or ask how Sam knows so much about the Stranger. Or why the Stranger would have information about Sam’s brother.

He can take his statement when they get back.

//

Elias is waiting for them. 

“Mission accomplished?”

“Well, Sarah Baldwin’s dead, anyway,” Daisy says. She brushes past Elias into the archives. Sam follows, shooting a glance back at Jon, who waves him away impatiently.

Sam’s blood is still buzzing with leftover adrenaline. It’s been months since he had a hunt and his tolerance for it seems to have worn off some in that time. 

Dean would laugh at him. 

_Dean’s not here_ , Sam reminds himself fiercely. _But you’re going to get him back._

Dean would laugh at him for a lot of reasons. For feeling the comedown from adrenaline this keenly, for chasing an old woman’s half-baked promises across an ocean, for signing away whatever’s left of his soul to a fear god. For listening to everything but classic rock because it hurts too much not to hear his voice singing along.

Sam wants to hear Dean’s mocking laughter more than he wants to breathe.

Daisy thumps him on the shoulder and he jolts. “Earth to Winchester.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam hisses. “I really don’t want to test out extradition laws.”

She smirks. “Then don’t zone out like that. I don’t like my hunting partners to tune out and get eaten.”

“Is that what we are? Hunting partners?”

She shrugs. “Suppose so.”

That’s all there is to say, really.

Jon comes down the stairs a few minutes later. Sam can’t tell if his boss is terrified or if pale and shaking is his default state. Jon closes the door to his office before Sam can decide.

“I’ve got a rogue werewolf down in Kent, if you’re free tonight,” Daisy says. 

“Yeah. I’m free.”

“Great.” Daisy slaps him on the back and heads over to join Basira in the break room.

Sam’s pretty sure Dean would approve of him agreeing to go with Daisy. Even if he would demand what the hell kind of name Kent was. Sam’s lips twitch at the thought before he remembers.

_I’m coming, Dean._

_I’m going to find you. You and Cas. I’m going to get you back._

_I swear._

Since no one seems to care what he does, Sam decides to look through the Institute library for any mention of Purgatory.

Sam knows better than probably anyone else alive what it’s like to deal with Heaven and Hell. But the demon he’d summoned had sworn with a truth spell on her that neither Dean or Cas was in Hell, and the angel he’d captured had sworn they weren’t in Heaven. 

(Truth spells didn’t work on angels, but torture did. And Sam had learned from some of the best.)

They had to be somewhere, and if they weren’t in Heaven or Hell, that left Purgatory. 

As Gertrude Robinson had promised, the Magnus Institute’s library has a substantial section on Purgatory. It’s even larger than the entirety of Bobby’s library had been.

Sam lets out a long breath. He hadn’t realized until he saw it that he had doubted Gertrude’s claims. 

“It has the information you need,” she’d told him, her eyes glinting a little too brightly to be natural. “Somewhere in the library, there’s a way to get your brother and your angel back.”

He’d been desperate, and he’d come to believe her as the months dragged by and he’d found nothing. Or maybe he’d just wanted to trust what she’d said because he’d lost the only thing he’d ever believed in. Sam had shown up on Charlie’s doorstep drunk and out of his mind eight months after Dean vanished and seven after he hit Gerry. He’d blurted out the whole story. Charlie had listened, let him sleep on her couch, and arranged for his visa and ID. She’d insisted on buying him a nice apartment, too-- said it was the best use she could think of for Dick Roman’s money. 

So now he was in London, willingly working for a fear god.

And Gertrude had been telling the truth. 

Sam sends a silent prayer of thanks to whatever non-dick angels might be listening and pulls the first book from the shelf.

By five, Sam knows humans aren’t meant for Purgatory and he has a list of spells that might help his brother get home. He fires off a few texts to Kevin-- the kid’s holed up with Josie at the moment, he’s been hopping between hunters every few months-- asking for any information he and Josie have about location spells. 

Daisy finds him as he’s grabbing his coat.

“Where do you live?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. She rolls her eyes. “Unless you’ve got a car, you’re going to need me to pick you up.”

He hesitates as all of his instincts go to war with her logic.

Ultimately, despite his misgivings, Sam gives Daisy his address. 

He doesn’t trust her, because-- despite indications to the contrary-- he’s not stupid. But the Impala’s under a tarp in Josie’s shed more than four thousand miles away and he’s not about to buy a car just so he can wreck it going the wrong way down the street. 

“You dealt with werewolves before?” she asks, easing the car to a stop in the London rush hour. 

“Yeah.” Madison’s face flashes through his mind. He pushes it away with the ease of long practice. “Several.”

“Good.” Daisy taps her fingers on the wheel. It feels bizarre to Sam to be sitting on the left. The left is the driver’s seat.

The left is where Dean belongs. 

Sam pushes the memory of Dean laughing behind the Impala’s wheel away too. 

So far he’s glad he came to the London Magnus Institute. There’s a library with the information he needs, there are things that need to be hunted, and there are people that need to be saved. 

All it’s missing is his brother and Cas.

The werewolf goes down easily enough. Sam brought most of his and Dean’s arsenal to London-- he should really send Charlie a thank-you note, it couldn’t have been easy to arrange that-- and a blast of silver slugs from a sawed-off does the trick. 

“Always feel a bit sorry for these poor bastards,” Daisy remarks, toeing at the werewolf’s corpse. “Most of them don’t even know.”

“Yeah.” Sam pushes away Madison’s memory again. He looks down at the werewolf’s body, remembering Elias’ words about the link between werewolves and the Stranger, and pulls out his matches. At Daisy’s skeptical look, he says, “Can’t hurt,” and she doesn’t argue.

The smell of burning flesh makes Sam’s new partner gag a little. 

It hadn’t bothered Dean since they were kids, and Sam’s even used to the smell of his own skin burning. So was-- _is_ \-- Dean. 

It’s a reminder of why he’s here. 

_I’ll get you out, guys. I swear._

Daisy starts the car.

_Whatever it takes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe and have a good week!


	4. Rescues (Jon)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the missed update, y’all. Social distancing and my brain chemistry is a bad combination.  
> I can’t find the comment-- maybe it got deleted?-- but someone asked if Dean would show up.  
> …  
> *pointedly glances at my very long list of Dean-centric fics*  
> Unfortunately, I am not free at this time to disclose that information.  
> *innocent whistling*  
> As always, thanks for reading, hope you like it, and I love feedback!

Jon lets his suspicions go for a few weeks. 

Sure, Sam shows up to work with even darker circles under his eyes than Jon does; sure. Sam and Daisy share an easy camaraderie that Jon is both suspicious and envious of. 

Jon lets his suspicions go, because despite being American, Sam Wesson is polite, well-read, and an excellent researcher. He leaves Jon alone except for emergencies and gets along well with the others.

In other words, Sam Wesson is a good archival assistant. If it wasn’t for his suspiciously comprehensive knowledge of supernatural lore, his unnatural composure under fire, his habit of carrying weapons everywhere-- he’s set off the metal detectors at least five times, and Jon hasn’t forgotten the machete incident-- and the many mysterious calls he refuses to talk about, Jon might even trust him.

He doesn’t trust him, though, because Sam Wesson is the most suspect person Jon has ever met. 

Jon’s self-control only extends so far, though, and it doesn’t extend to people obviously judging him for smoking. 

“What?” Jon snaps, glaring at Sam, who hasn’t stopped staring at him. They’re sharing a bench, sure, but he’s at least three feet away from the American and downwind as well. 

“Sorry,” Sam says, looking away. “I just-- I don’t like the smell of smoke.”

Jon remembers what Sam said about his mother and girlfriend. He refuses to apologize, but he does put out his cigarette. 

He isn’t going to ask. Really, he isn’t. The question bubbles up in his throat anyway.

**“Why?”**

Jon knows that other avatars don’t like when he asks questions. He has the scars to prove it. Sam doesn’t seem to notice anything too odd, though, because he answers and doesn’t stab John in the process.

“I told you about my mom and Jess. That’s part of it. Maybe even most of it. I guess I’ll start there.

“I don’t remember my mom’s death. Too young, even for something that memorable. Dean does, though. It screwed him up. He used to want to be a firefighter. I think that’s why. He carried me out of the fire.” Sam laughs. It’s bitter enough Jon shudders. “He hasn’t stopped since. Never learned how.

“I grew up around things burning. Hated it. Always reminded me of Dad and his obsess--”

Sam stops talking. His eyes lock onto Jon’s and they’re cold enough to make him go perfectly still. 

“What did you just do to me?”

Jon shakes his head. “I--”

“What. Did. You. Do.” The sentence is ground out low and dangerous. 

“I don’t know,” Jon says. He elaborates hurriedly when Sam’s eyes narrow further. “I don’t know, I just-- it’s something I can do. I can’t control it, I _can’t_ \--”

Sam holds up a hand. Jon flinches. 

Sam closes his eyes, then, his expression so tired that Jon’s chest twinges. 

“Not gonna hurt you,” Sam says. “I wouldn’t.”

Jon watches Sam walk back inside the Institute, his broad shoulders hunched, and doesn’t entirely believe him. 

Nikola comes for Jon that night.

There isn’t much else to say.

Jon jolts out of a half-doze to the soft creak of a door. 

“Jon?” Sam’s voice whispers. “You there?”

Jon, blindfolded and gagged, takes half a breath to consider that this is a trick. Then blind hope takes control and he does his best to scream. 

“Shh, shhhh. Quiet. We gotta get out of here unnoticed. Can you be quiet for me, Jon?”

Jon nods frantically. He should be ashamed at how well Sam’s “soothing the victim” voice is working on him. He probably will be, once he’s out of here, but for now, all that matters is getting out. 

There’s a tugging at his wrists, accompanied by a faint sawing sound. Jon’s hands come apart and he has to bite down on the gag to keep from groaning in mingled relief and pain as his fingers begin to tingle. 

“Good, that’s good. Now I’m gonna untie your legs, okay?”

Jon takes that to be a hypothetical question. He focuses on flexing the feeling back into his fingers as he hears the ropes around his ankles hit the floor. 

“Great.” Sam yanks the blindfold off of Jon’s head and pulls one of Jon’s arms around his-- really rather remarkably broad, Jon thinks dazedly-- shoulders. “We gotta go. Stay quiet, follow my lead.”

Jon tries to use his clumsy fingers to untie his gag but succeeds only in fumbling with the knot. Sam makes an impatient noise, stops dragging Jon along, and draws his knife again. 

Jon-- fairly, in his opinion-- jerks away. 

It’s too dark for him to be sure, but he thinks there’s hurt on Sam’s shadowed face when his rescuer says, “I’m cutting your gag off.”

Jon internally winces. Externally, he stays still and allows Sam to slice the gag off. 

“Thank you,” Jon croaks. 

Sam holds a finger to his lips in his response. 

_Right. Quiet._

They’re nearly to the crack of light Sam can see when Nikola’s cracking-glass voice halts them in their tracks. 

“Sneaking off so soon, Archivist? Oh, and you have _company_!”

Sam draws a gun and keeps moving. Jon, his adrenaline surging as he does his best to keep up, has to wonder how many weapons the man has.

“Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Nikola says, stepping between them and the door. Jon’s legs stop working. “You really shouldn’t have come here.”

“Don’t,” Sam says, pointing his gun at her, “Call me Sammy.”

“Bullets? How quaint.”

He fires. The gun’s report makes Jon’s ears ring. 

Nikola stumbles and falls. She laughs from the floor. “Silver? Oh, Sammy, I guess your daddy did teach you some tricks after all.”

Sam starts walking again, firing as he goes and still dragging Jon. Between the shots, Sam says, “Guess so.”

She’s still laughing as Sam cuts her head off with his machete.

“That won’t stop her,” Jon mumbles as Sam half-drags, half-carries Jon to a car that looks a lot like Daisy’s. After however long it’s been in the dark, the weak afternoon sunlight is nearly blinding.

“I know.” Sam opens the door and shoves Jon into the backseat. “But it got you out, so. Good enough for now.”

 _Oh,_ Jon realizes as he sees Daisy in the driver’s seat. _This_ is _Daisy’s car_.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” Jon informs his rescuers.

He passes out.

When he wakes up, he’s in Elias’ office with Sam-- and Elias. He does his best to bolt to his feet and falls over.

“Really, Jon,” Elias says, remaining seated. “That seems unnecessary.”

Sam offers Jon a hand up. Jon takes it, noticing as he does that his own hand is shaking. 

“How long was I gone?” Jon asks once he’s seated again. When neither of them answers, he repeats himself. “ **How long?** ”

“Five days,” Sam says grimly. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It took _you_ so long? Elias, what the hell were _you_ doing?” 

“Looking for you.”

“So how come Sam was the one who found me?”

Elias sighs. “Sam has a… hmm… a special set of skills.”

 _Yeah. Definitely been watching American action movies._ Jon decides to think about that instead of the _five days_ part.

“I can hack,” Sam explains. His face when he looks at Elias is inscrutable. “I tracked the van from your-- uh, from Georgie’s house to the wax museum using the CCTV.”

“Well, I’m glad someone actually did something to help,” Jon mutters. 

Elias raises an eyebrow but says only, “I think it’s time you got back to work, Archivist.”

“Elias--” Sam starts. 

“Mr. Wesson, while I appreciate your concern for Jonathan, I feel certain getting back into his work will be more beneficial than anything else.”

Sam’s jaw twitches but he says nothing more. 

“Right, then.” Elias slides a folder across his desk. “Don’t let me detain you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe and have a good week!


	5. Personal Update (Will Delete Later)

Hi everyone,

My mental health is not great at the moment, so I'm afraid it might be awhile before I manage to get the next chapter written. 

Take care of yourselves. 

-Jay (notyouranswer)


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